Five

(Flesh and Blood)

She swept her fingers through the candle's flame again, fighting the path her wandering mind took every chance it was granted. Fire, she forced herself to focus on being swallowed by the fire, consumed in the ignominious death that ripped her away from her body. That memory was less painful. Flames slithering towards her, licking up her skirts, and devouring the flesh off her bones.

But then it came. She rialed against it, beating it back, begging her subconscious to give her just a moment's peace. The Ori had come through her, they'd taken her life, violated her body, all she had left was her mind and that was in rebellion. Her soul, Origin believed that the Ori watched over everyone of their children's souls, but they didn't guard hers. It lived with him.

That voice rose in her memory, in desperate supplication that the mob would let her go. The sound of his voice called her liar every time she convinced herself she loved Tomin. She would feel the child swell in her stomach, believing she would never see her galaxy again. It wasn't that bad here, she would tell herself, fresh air and trees were better than the starship she would find herself on. That world spoke to her, good ground for gardening, a child, domesticity, all things a woman should want. A new kind of hope was kindled with this babe. Here she was normal, with no leftover baggage from a Goa'uld, the life she had begged for all those years she'd spent trapped in her own mind.

Then Daniel's voice would bubble up and rip her through. She'd wake in a sweat, her very bones aflame and defiance rewoken, all at his call.

Her water had broken the moment they'd entered her home galaxy, and it was enough reality to stifle the thought that Daniel would be out there waiting. That child had churned in her belly every time she dreamt of Daniel, remembering the rush that coursed through her at his tender kiss. She'd never known honor had a taste, possibly because she had never known a man who smoldered with purity. She was still drunk with it, addicted to the unknown spice that haunted her.

She had prayed in those nine months, pled that there could be any way, any accident, something that would make this child Daniel's, and not the Ori. She struck deals with every deity save the Ori as she gave birth; a silent plea the child would have a soul. Daniel could give that to the babe, he'd given one to her.

Now she sat gazing out the window of her cabin, waving her fingers through the flame in a desperate attempt to find some pain stronger than the explosions resounding in space. He was alive somewhere, she knew that. If he had left this world she would feel it. How could she not know if her soul had been ripped from the world? He lived, he had to.

"Please."